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1.
“We each have a responsibility to play our role.”
Words engraved in her consciousness as deeply as their family name for all the times father has said it.
There’s a part of her that understands and a quieter sense of unease in the parts she keeps from showing. So, she does as she always has when she doesn’t know what to think.
Derrida asks her grandmother what is true.
--
Once, father told her to “be obedient and bring no shame”, and grandmother taught her how to recognize, still, her desire.
Father lectured on the necessity to “marry well”, and grandmother remarked that it would be a requirement for assurance of her future.
Father embellished their legacy of pride, and grandmother corroborated him, as to her, of course, no one was above a dragon.
--
When Derrida asked about her role, grandmother scoffed.
“Pawh,” she hisses. “Responsibility this, responsibility that. Humans use fancy terms to keep each other in line.”
The young girl feels the warmth of the gem in her hands flicker in agitation. King and kingdom had taken her grandmother’s bones for parts and head by conquest but her heart remained with the family.
“He is not wrong, child. If you will live by this world’s rules, you will find there are easy ways and hard ways. What you desire constitutes your path forward.
“Heeding your father, living like you want - it is your decision.” Grandmother’s voice takes on a wry tone. “He knows best how to live like a human.”
Father has done his best to build their family back from the ruin of his father’s generation. He knows the rules and expectations, and mutters long into the night about society and social standing. He’s as human as they come.
The heart gem pulses, and in a whisper before the energy fades, she hears, “Never forget to fight for what’s yours.”
--
Under her covers that night, still warm from the bath, she considers those words of wisdom. Living like she wants? Fighting for what is hers?
Derrida thinks of all the ways she’s seen how to live. One stands out above them all, told in countless fairy tales. Princesses and princes holding hands at their very own happily ever after.
She leans close to her teddy bear and whispers a secret, “I want to find love. I want to be with that person who only looks at me.”
--
Derrida does just as father said and grandmother advised: do as she’s told, go after what she wants, and bring fortune to the Fafnir family name.
At the Academy, she seeks attention. None of the right sort approach her. The symbol, the prince, befriends a Duke’s daughter, sticks by her side, and Derrida seethes in jealousy.
That status belonged to her.
It ends in tragedy.
[Save Files: 1]
2.
If only he’d looked at her.
That’s a thought she clings to as the phantom pain of death haunts her dreams. She wakes up in a cold sweat, thrashing into the tangle of sheets that ensnare her limbs like snakes.
She feels the deep seated ache in the pit of her stomach expand with certainty.
If he’d only looked at her, given her the attention and status the family needed, then none of this would happen.
--
Derrida seeks him out early, younger and wiser. They grow closer with her father’s hearty approval and the King’s indifference.
Grandmother comments on the nature of empires and control when she hears of their budding friendship but her descent doesn’t understand until a long while in the future.
--
They argue. They fight. It gets physical.
She can’t protect what’s hers.
It’s not the ending she wanted.
[Save Files: 2]
3.
Derrida pointedly stares down the girl with an accusing finger, curls fanning out in a dramatic burst.
“You, girl!”
A student with a shoulder length bob clutched self-consciously at her cravat. “Yes, my lady…?”
“Stay away from him!”
Stomping away, Derrida smiled in satisfaction at getting her point across.
“Stay away from who…?”
--
Derrida pulls her nastiest tricks: whoopee cushions, mixing salt and sugar containers in the lunchroom, tripping her in class.
There is confusion. There is mayhem.
The problem is, they have no idea why.
--
“Why are you doing this?” the prince asks, hand white knuckled on his sword handle. The Duke’s daughter is gripping the back of his uniform jacket like a lifeline.
They’re drawing a crowd, muttering discontented among themselves; the negative attention she so feared is looming closer. These facts hold all of Derrida’s attention.
“You lowly creatures!” She rages on, mouth spitting insults with the ferocity of breathing fire.
Running to get away is misunderstood as an aborted lunge, and Derrida meets a painful end.
[Save Files: 3]
4.
Quiet and meek, Lord Fafnir’s daughter is sent as a companion to the sickly son of the Grand Duke. Everyone knows it's a facade of employment to pay the creditors.
She passes from illness unexpectedly before the end of the Academy’s second year, buried in red with the trademark gem of her house.
The Grand Duke’s son is consoled in his grief by a cousin, a duke’s daughter of another family line. On graduation, they retire to a seaside villa with his health in mind.
Below the earth, a red gem bursts bright enough to crack the foundation of the earth.
[Save Files: 4]
5.
“I can tell you this only once, child,” grandmother’s voice whispers as she sobs over the cold surface in her hands. “Listen well.”
Derrida learns the truth of the world.
[Save Files: 5]
6.
Seeking love and attention from others. Her wish, desperately, for someone’s sole regard.
It’s a childish dream that doesn’t last.
For this world to find happiness, she thinks with certainty, she can’t have her own.
“Isn’t it poetic, grandmother?” she muses to the dull and lifeless gem. Light glints as red as blood off its ruby hue, reflecting in her eyes. “I understand what this world needs.”
The truth no one needs to say: she must be killed for this world.
[Save Files: 6]
…15.
Opening ceremonies have just ended. Derrida intends to return by carriage for her father’s lecture on marriage partners when loud footsteps approach.
“Derrida,” a short-haired person shouts mid-lunge, “I love you!”
The assailant is promptly slapped and drop-kicked to the ground.
“You utter boar! How dare you?” The sheer nerve to approach her person in such a manner adds extra weight to the retaliation.
“I…” Prince knows better than to touch her, but his presence breaks her concentration. “I think that’s far enough, don’t you?”
“But, this person…”
Will glare at the prince and tell him to butt out, apparently.
“What on earth…” She feels a chill go down her spine at the shine in those eyes. “Disgusting.”
That person… she didn’t know them at all.
--
Derrida feels a presence following her throughout the campus. No matter where she went there were watchful eyes.
It takes three days before she hits her limit and shouts, “You! I know you’re there. Come out.”
The short-hair woman hops out from behind the wall like a loyal dog.
Her eyes beg for attention; Derrida can’t meet them.
“I’ll only tell you this once more,” she huffs with every ounce of vitriol she can find. “Don’t come near me!”
The woman deflates like a kicked puppy, but she doesn’t care. She’s a villainess; causing is her only role.
--
The woman doesn’t listen. Like a glutton for punishment, she keeps coming back.
“Want to have lunch together after this?”
Derrida uses her books as a shield. “Don’t come near me.”
The next day, in the library, the woman brings an offering of a rare book she’d been hoping to read.
An opportunity that can’t be passed up doesn’t mean everything was accepted, though. It was pure exploitation.
Her constant declarations of love were worth the investment of money that flowed like water into the Fafnir coffers.
--
This woman was a fungus, Derrida was sure. She grew liked one.
She constantly brought gifts: perfumes, books, teas. Jewels, once, in the form of a bracelet.
Her hands were warm on Derrida’s forearm, gentle and firm. No one had touched her gently in so long. So close, she felt the near constant repetition of her “I love you”s whisper, physically, against her skin.
It left her burning.
Surely from anger at her audacity.
She didn’t speak to the woman for several hours in punishment, but then, she noticed that puppy-like grin had never been wider.
--
She felt reality slipping out of her grasp.
--
It builds and it builds until one day she breaks down at the fountain under the constant affection of a person looking only at her.
“It’s your fault isn’t it?” Derrida clutches her skirt in a death grip. “That I… feel like I’m losing my mind.
“I was always bullying you, doing awful things.” She sniffs. “I’ve never gotten along with anyone. I think maybe my own parents hate me.
“And yet…
“And yet you…”
The woman leans in and wipes the tears from her eyes.
“Just what are you thinking of?” she asks, eyes meeting hers for the first time.
Stars shine back at her. “I’m not thinking of anything at all, other than you.”
Under a trance, all Derrida knows is the warmth of her hand and the dry lips on hers.
--
At the peak of happiness or full of dread, all have a responsibility to fill their roles.
[Save Files: 1-7-5. Error, restart required.]
…16.
It was a nice dream.
--
“Prince Engaged to Marquis’s Daughter…”
Her vision tunnels red around the newspaper page, a picture of a blond man with a ponytail and a short haired woman posing arm and arm.
She woke up to a nightmare.
--
The script is flipped as she becomes the stalker, fighting over crumbs of attention and kind words.
“You’re the only one in my heart.” Her heart skips a beat at those words of devotion. But they ring empty and hollow when she sees her arm and arm with that man.
--
She remembers grandmother’s truths.
“Live the life you want. Only you can decide.”
“Protect what is yours.”
--
It comes to a head at the ball the couple attends as an officially sanctioned couple. She can’t take it any more.
Derrida corners them alone with a knife.
“Why? Didn’t you say I was the only one for you?”
Her hands tremble. She can’t bear to hurt this person, and yet, she can’t stop herself from expressing herself the only way she knows how.
“You dirty liar!” Derrida feels herself start to cry. “You should take responsibility and die.”
Warmth. She is cupping her hands, close, and coming to the blade.
“...I wasn’t lying.” Her eyes hold the game level of devotion as before. “If it’s for your sake, I’d be happy to die.”
The knife clatters to the ground from her limp hands.
“Just what are you saying??”
Don’t die. She won’t allow her to die. Derrida won’t allow this person to leave her again.
--
They spend a night together.
--
One truth of this world: if you won’t take responsibility for your role, the world will do it for you.
[Save Files: New Game +]
…17.
Her role hasn’t changed, but there is a new constant.
Derrida doesn’t mind. It’s always nice to have a dream now and again.
After all, it’s another truth of this world: her happiness never lasts.
[Save Files: New Game ++++]
…∞.
Once, she watches her die.
She can never do that again.
--
Once, she stays with her for a lifetime. Derrida is no stranger to cages but being in that single room was a boon.
She thinks of her grandmother and the family struggle of truth in this world.
She tries for the first time to tell another.
It ends how it always does.
--
Once, the fever in those eyes lights a rebellion.
“...we’re making curry, right?” As the city goes up in flames, they cook the same meal for the second week in a row.
--
If given a knife and the choice, Derrida would rather cut out her own heart.
[Save File: Anomaly detected]
--
1---.
Those eyes have become a mirror of devotion and sadness and dwindling hope.
“How much do you love me?”
“I like you.”
That answer isn’t strong enough.
--
“She asked me, how much do I like her?” Derrida wipes away a tear. The picture on her wall stares back at her, fierce and uncompromising. “Grandmother, what should I do…?”
She hears the answer whistle in on the east wind.
“Live the life you want. That is your choice.”
“Protect what is yours.”
--
The edge of the known world is a circle, a great wall that protects the kingdom. Only evil comes from across the wall so all must stay inside it.
That woman opens the door.
That woman goes through.
Derrida would rather cut her heart out than see her die again.
She pushes passed her limits and bursts through.
--
Lifetimes ago she’d said, “I’ll go with you when I grow wings.”
She always knew that was possible. But it took this depth of love to show her it was worth it.
--
“Don’t kill yourself in a stupid manner like that! Stupid!” Derrida scolds her, feeling the solid live weight in her arms.
“We’re - flying??”
“Nevermind that! I’m angry at you, you know!” Derrida huffed. “You said you didn’t want me to die,and kept messing up the world, didn’t you?”
The woman is silent.
Derrida explains the truth again. She is a villainess who must die for this world to be happy but… “that doesn’t matter anymore.
“Because,” she says, with a smile that lights up her eyes, “I have fallen in love with you. And I want to be with you always.
“You want the same, right?”
They curl together, head to shoulder, in relief.
They kiss.
Their love breaks the fourth wall.
--
Wherever they go with their grown wings, they will always be together.
[Save File: File corrupted]
0.
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, I suppose. But don’t you dare stop. My shoulders are sore from carrying you, you giant.”
“Your grandmother was a dragon, right? How did that, eh.”
“...”
“You know! How did it work?”
“Hmph. With love, of course. Only true love can hold the heart of a dragon.”
A dreamy sigh. “Ah, my love! And I hold you in my arms. Which must mean, I have your heart, too?”
“You--!” Smacking sound. “You know… you already hold more than that.”
[Save Files: Error, no files found.]